


The Laws of Attraction

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: ACD Canon References, Alternate Universe - College/University, First Kiss, First Time, John has troubles with teacher's morals, M/M, Sherlock cures John's limp, Teacher-Student Relationship, Virgin Sherlock, killing/shooting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-03
Updated: 2014-05-19
Packaged: 2018-01-21 18:33:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 12,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1560011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson is the new chemistry teacher at Brighton College. Sherlock is a rebellious final-year student who is already pursuing his vocation as a consulting detective. However, they share a love for adventure and danger. Soon they start questionining the platonical nature of their relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I'll Be Home, In A Little While

**Author's Note:**

> Hello to all my beautiful readers! This is my first fanfiction, I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it! I'll be posting new chapters in the next few days, promise :)
> 
>  
> 
> I dedicate this fanfiction to my personal William Sherlock, Simone, who made Sherlock so many times better by letting me share it with her. She’s the conductor of light of this story.

John Watson stood next to the window in his new flat, leaning on his cane. He had moved in a few days ago, and the flat still looked a mess. Boxes and clutter were lying around on the floor, and the smell of fresh wall paint still lingered in the air. It didn’t feel like home to John at all.

John incessantly fidgeted with the phone in his hand. He’d have really liked to talk to someone, but who was there? Since he had returned from Afghanistan, the only friend he’s had contact with was Mike Stamford, but John would be meeting him later on anyway, and Stamford wasn’t the kind of bloke you call when you’re nervous before you first day of work. After all, it was Stamford who had gotten him this job.  
Well, there was Harry, she would want John to call, that was also the reason she had given him her old mobile. But this would inevitably lead to him consoling her for her recent breakup with Clara and certainly wouldn’t make his day any better.

From his sitting room window, John had a perfect view of the Brighton College grounds, where he could see the first flocks of students entering the main building. This should be the sign for him to get ready too; it surely wouldn’t make a good impression to be late on your first day as a chemistry teacher. But his body refused to move, he just kept staring at the growing number of happily chatting students.

John knew he should be grateful. He had been an army doctor for two years, got shot - in the shoulder - and survived. He had been 27 and without prospect when he returned from war. However, he not only found a job, but an excellent job as a teacher in a beautiful city at the seaside. He would get a decent salary and he would have the opportunity to pass on his knowledge to students, which has, apart from being a doctor, always been a dream of his. Still, John didn’t feel as comfortable as he should. Nightmares of the hot Afghan sun, the shooting and his friends, either wounded or dying, haunted him at night. The days, on the other hand, were incredibly dull. Nothing happened to him. And there was no therapist who could possibly change that. Worst of all was the pain in his leg that has plagued him since his return. It impeded him. It made leaving the flat a painful undertaking and forced John to stay at home. Alone. His therapist insisted that it was a psychosomatic symptom, but John didn't want to believe her. To him, this would mean that the pain is his own fault and he could get rid of it just by ... wanting to. To him, it would mean he failed. No one could imagine how badly he wanted it to be gone.

With a sigh, John broke his gaze from the thick clouded sky and shook his head to clear away his worries. It was time to get prepared for his first day as a lecturer. 

 

*******************************************

 

The first two lessons had gone very well. Being in the army had taught John many things, and being authoritative proved to be most useful when it came to dealing with 10- to 18-year old students. After one class had left the room for a break, John stretched and wandered off to the staff room.

“John” he heard a voice behind him. “John, how’d it go?” Stamford clapped him on his (sound) shoulder from behind.

“Pretty good, actually” John replied and his smile was genuine. “The students seem to like me and I think teaching suits me.”

“I told you so. I told you so, mate.” Stamford replied and looked content. After buying two steaming cups of coffee, they sat down on a nearby sofa. “So, John, I checked your timetable, the next class is probably going to be more of a challenge than the first two!” Stamford began.

“They’re 18 year olds; the rebellious streaks will be over by now, what could possibly go wrong, Mike?” John laughed.

“Ah the naiveté of young teachers!” Stamford winked. “Anyway, there’s one student you’ll have to keep an eye on. It’s Sherlock Holmes. I think he’s already 21 by now; he wasn’t permitted to take his A-Levels last year. He’ll be in your class.”

“So he failed chemistry?” John interjected, not quite understanding why Mike thought this would cause troubles.

“Yes, but that’s not the problem. He’s quite a difficult character. Every single teacher could tell you lots of anecdotes about him. Nobody likes him, except perhaps Mrs. Hooper, for some weird reason. I think it’s best if I warn you. Holmes is clever, there’s no doubt he could easily excel in every single subject. He only failed chemistry because he never attended classes or handed in samples. The point is that he’s been refusing to cooperate with any teacher since he came here at the age of fourteen. He breaks rules constantly, he doesn’t have friends and his fellow students often complained that they were afraid of him when they were younger. Sometimes he even steals away and won’t return for a few days.”

John pondered upon what he had heard. “So why doesn’t the headmaster throw him out of college?”

“Well, that’s the problem.” Stamford explained. “His family is rather well-heeled, so they pay loads to ensure he gets to stay here. And the school desperately needs the money.”

That explained a lot. John himself didn’t come from a wealthy family and had always despised his schoolmates who thought they were something better because of their wealth.

“If he doesn’t finish this class, he again won’t be able to take his A-levels. We want to get rid of him. Please keep an eye on him, John, make sure he does his work.”

“I will," John promised and got up. “See you later, Mike.”


	2. Hansel and Gretel (and Sherlock Holmes)

When John entered the laboratory, the students were already at their tables, chatting loudly. Before he announced his arrival, he scanned the room for the mysterious Sherlock Holmes he had been warned of. After a minute, he saw a tall, slim boy sitting in the last row by the window. _This must be him._

Sherlock was leaning back in his chair, his eyes locked on the ceiling above him. The blue school uniform hung sloppily on his shoulders. His skin seemed pale, but his hair was a mop of dark, unruly curls. All in all he seemed completely out of place. John had to admit, he even looked a bit different, he’d call it otherworldly, and unmistakably posh, but he decided not to let Stamford’s warning words disturb him too much.

John asked the students to quiet down and began instructing the exercise. Their task was to extract chlorophyll from a leaf of spinach, a simple exercise, but he thought it was a good choice to start the year and for the students to get used to his methods. After giving the instructions and answering various questions he slowly made his way to the back row, where Sherlock was sitting, hands folded under his chin and his forehead creased into a frown.

“Mr. Holmes,” John began “I see you haven’t started with the exercise yet. Is there something I can help you with?”

Sherlock remained silent and seemed oblivious to the fact that he had been addressed by his teacher.

“Mr. Holmes?”

“Tell me, which fairy tale involves breadcrumbs?” Sherlock suddenly asked, turning towards John rapidly.

“Er... Hansel and Gretel?” John answered even though he hadn’t planned to give a reply to a question that stupid, posed by a pretentious student. He was momentary thrown out of joint by those eyes. They were of the lithest shade of blue and green, and seemed to pierce their way straight through John’s skin and explore his insides.

“Correct. But how could that be a clue to find two kidnapped children?”

Prepared this time, John ignored the question. “Mr. Holmes, at the end of the lesson I need your sample of chlorophyll or I won’t be able to give you a positive mark on today’s class.”

“Professor Watson, I can assure you that I perfectly well know how to extract natural colorants from a plant. I estimate there will be 3.3 ounces of chlorophyll a and 0.7 ounces of chlorophyll b in the sample, with a range of +-0.06. “

“This might be correct, and I don’t know how many times you have done this before to get that exact information, but I’m afraid it is necessary that you hand in a sample if you want to finish this course.”

“You just admitted that it’s pointless,” Sherlock retorted.

“No, I didn’t. And it is very much in your own interest to pass this course as otherwise, you won’t be able to take your A-levels for the second time.” John decided that the most pointless thing right now was to argue with Sherlock Holmes, so he gave him a stern look and turned to go away.

“Professor Watson,” Sherlock said from behind and added more quietly “you might want to give your sister a call, she just broke up with her girlfriend and has fallen back into her drinking habits.”

This took John completely by surprise. He stumbled and turned his head to look back at Sherlock. The boy just stared at him with intent eyes. How could he possibly know about Harry’s drinking problem? Not even their parents were aware of it, and he’d rather hoped it would stay that way to keep them from worrying. Anyway, Harry had assured him that she had overcome her addiction! John suddenly wasn’t so sure anymore if it was really only in Sherlock’s best interest that he finished school, or if Stamford was right, and everyone would be reliefed to get rid of him.


	3. Lights Will Guide You Home

As the night closed in and darkness was falling, John decided to finish his preparations for the next lessons. He leant back in his chair and let out a sigh. The day hadn’t been as bad as he’d expected. Actually, he’d enjoyed his tasks and he found himself looking forward to the next day. Teaching had proved to come easy to him and the students seemed to enjoy his lessons. But what he appreciated most was that work had kept his mind busy all day. It hadn’t allowed him to ponder unnecessarily on the nightmare he had had the night before and had even distracted him from the pain in his leg for a short time.

While he was changing into his pyjamas the strange student with the dark curls, the odd, angular face and those incredibly posh, bowed lips came to his mid. Honestly John. Now you’re judging your students by their lips. How on earth had he known about Harry? He had also known he had been in the war, but he could have found that out on the internet. It was the information about Harry that he worried about.  
When John crossed his sitting room window, he noticed that there was a faint light in the second window on the third floor of the building across the campus.

“Shit” he muttered to himself “I left the light on in the laboratory”  
He grabbed his shoes and a jacket and went out into the night to go and turn off the light. Stepping outside, he felt a light breeze on his face. He shivered and cursed the fabric of his pyjamas for being so thin. Autumn seemed to come a lot quicker this year; it was exceptionally chilly for early September. He wasn’t sure if it was even necessary to go and turn off the light, but it would certainly be better not to attract negative attention on his first day at work.

As John reached the laboratory he tried to unlock the door, and was surprised as he found it unlocked. “Fuck it, John, you’re incapable of properly closing up your workplace, aren’t you?” he muttered to himself as he opened the door and entered the room. He stumbled to a sudden halt as he noticed he was not alone. A dark figure was bowed over a microscope in the far left corner, only slightly illuminated by a dim light, unmistakably the source of light John had seen from his window. After the initial shock at this unexpected encounter had ebbed away John opened his mouth to tell whichever student this was to immediately go to bed, but the man in the corner was quicker and said in a completely unabashed voice “Grab some goggles before you approach me, I’ve got some slightly acid things over here”. John recognized the voice immediately. Sherlock Holmes. It seemed like this student was more trouble than John had expected.

With an angry huff he grabbed a pair of goggles from the teacher’s desk. “Mr. Holmes” he began, while he limped over to the crouched figure with a determined pace “which house are you in?”

“Abraham”, Sherlock answered nonchalantly and without pausing continued “Professor Watson, I have dried linseed oil here which contains traces of...” 

“You are aware that it’s just before midnight?” John interrupted him a bit louder than he had planned. This boy was unbelievable. Arrogant git. John continued a little calmer, but with even more consistency “Your curfew began two hours ago and yet I find you in the school laboratory, which I am fairly certain I have locked before I left in the afternoon and you’re dealing with... WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?” John suddenly exclaimed, shocked.

Sherlock just eyed him incredulously, and for whichever reason there was the faintest hint of disappointment in his gaze. “These, as I thought is fairly obvious, are fingers...”

“Yes I can see that”, John kept his voice as restrained as possible in this absurd situation “Where did you get them from?”

“As much as I would like to tell you, I have learned that I mustn’t trust professors in these matters,” Sherlock sighed.

“You will pack your things now, I will accompany you over to your house, you will stay there, and first thing tomorrow morning I will take you the headmaster and you may call yourself lucky if you don’t find yourself expelled by the start of the first lesson.”

Sherlock seemed to ponder on that for a moment and then calmly stated “No you won’t.” 

The anger, which had at first bubbled low inside Johns stomach began to rise and he had to close his eyes for a brief time to compose himself again. Sherlock took advantage of this short moment of silence and spoke “Two kids have been kidnapped and I am currently trying to find the location of them, because the police are out of their depth again, which is actually almost always. I am furthermore fairly certain that if we don’t find them until tomorrow morning, they will die. So I don’t mind you taking me to the headmaster tomorrow, but if you don’t let me finish this now, you’ll have two kids on your conscience.”  
John swallowed. He’d known threatening Sherlock with the headmaster would be highly ineffective, since he apparently had rich parents. But something about the way Sherlock had said these last words made him trust in his sincerity. He had actually read about the abduction of two children of the Dutch ambassador in the evening paper. And being a doctor, saving people’s lives was his main duty. Sherlock might have hit a nerve there.  
“Fine” he finally conceded. “What information have you got so far?”

Sherlock gave him a contended nod and began to collect the microscope slides he had scattered on the desk. “The kidnapper stepped onto linseed oil, so the only information we get about the location is from the traces of the kidnapper’s shoes in the dried oil” Sherlock explained “So far I have discovered chalk, asphalt, vegetation and brick dust, but there is one more thing. I haven’t figured out what it is yet."

“Let me have a look.” John said and Sherlock moved to make room for the young professor. John bent over the microscope and adjusted the zoom lens. Then he studied the other slides. Sherlock watched him intently from the side; John felt the hair in his neck stand up as he noticed Sherlock’s gaze. „Chocolate” John finally looked up and found Sherlock’s face awkwardly close to his own. He swallowed.

“Chocolate?” Sherlock asked, not breaking eye contact with his professor. John cleared his throat and tried to back away a bit.

“Polyglycerin-Polyricinoleat. Usually contained in chocolate” John explained and was again under the impression that Sherlock tried to read something off him while he held his gaze.

The tall young man then nodded slowly and got out his phone “That will be enough information. The cops will be able to find them on their own now.”  
Tapping away on his phone, he gave John a half smile. 

John let out a sigh and leant his back to the desk. Tiredness washed over him so suddenly he feared he might just drop over and fall asleep right where he was. He rubbed his face at the thought of the next day, knowing that there was not much time left for him to sleep. Silence stretched between them while Sherlock texted the police.

“How did you know about Harry”? He finally asked. Sherlock’s head snapped up and he gave him a quizzical look.

“Ahh your sister, I remember. I had a look at your phone.”

“You-“

“No, no I didn’t read any messages. Although I could have.” Sherlock seemed annoyed by being forced to explain. “First of all, the engraving: Harry Watson – from Clara xxx. Watson indicates it’s a family member, so it must be a gift, most likely a close family member, because you don’t give a phone with an engraving like this to strangers. Could be a brother, but there are bits of red nail varnish on the scratches, so sister it is. Three x’s indicate romantic attachment, your sister gave the phone to you so apparently the relationship has ended. Recently, because you are fairly mediocre at handling it.” 

“But how could you possibly know about the drinking?”

“Ah, that was a bit more difficult. Power connection: tiny little scuff marks around the edge of it. Her hands were shaking when she went to put it in. They’re not very deep tough, and look fresh, so she must have begun drinking again only recently. Yes ‘again’, because you don’t get these symptoms so quickly, so it must have been a habit once.”

John looked at Sherlock and gave him an incredulous smile „That was brilliant.” he said. 

“You think so?” Sherlock said hesitantly, as if he didn’t know how to react.

“Yes, scary, but fantastic!” 

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him, unsure whether to believe the extremely tired looking man or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for today, I'm curious what you think about it so far!


	4. Highly Dangerous And Definetly Illegal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my lovlies! From the distant moonlight shores of the Yangtze River, I present for your pleasure: chapter 3 and 4!  
> The first one is rather short, my apologies for that.  
> Anyway, I couldn't resist putting in the 'Sherlock on the moonlit rooftop'-scene from the pilot ;-)  
> Enjoy!

John woke the next morning to the sound of his alarm-clock. He rubbed his eyes, and, to his amazement, he didn’t feel as unrested as he had thought he would. He had slept soundly without waking up in the middle of the night, which was a rare occurrence. 

**************

He didn’t take Sherlock to the headmaster. He knew it would be futile anyway

**************

The first lessons passed without remarkable incidences. John felt his nervousness growing as the day went on and even though he tried to blame it on calling his sister in the afternoon or just looking forward to finishing, he silently had to admit that it was because of the Holmes boy. He would teach his class in the last lesson.

Finally, when John’s concentration was close to faltering, the ring of the bell indicated the end of the second to last class. The students filed out and the next class took their seats. John couldn’t help craning his neck for a mop of dark curls among the students. He spotted Sherlock as soon as he entered the room, last of all, and watched him as he lithely walked towards the far end of the classroom, just where John had met him the night before. 

John started instructing the class to their next task. It took him quite a while to get the class to work; students were always especially distracted during the last hour of school. But he couldn’t blame them, because he himself lacked concentration right then, and again he unwillingly admitted that the reason might be the unmistakable presence he felt like a buzzing in the room. Sherlock. After everyone had quieted down and started their work, John straightened his posture and approached the last row. He stopped short at the sight of Sherlock pipetting the sodium chloride solution, just as he’d instructed the class to do. He was apparently doing his work. Taken aback, John didn’t know what to say and started to retreat, when he heard Sherlock’s deep voice talking gently behind him. “You’ve helped me yesterday. I intend to return that favour by doing as I’m told.” John met Sherlock’s eyes and couldn’t quite hide his surprise.

“Alright” he smiled, as if in agreement. He knew that in the end, Sherlock only did himself a favour if he worked in class. But John didn’t mind.

*************

At the end of the lesson, when the other students were busy clearing the desks and putting away the microscopes, John summoned Sherlock, to the teacher’s desk. “Um...” he began, and looked around to make sure no one was listening “Did they find the children? There was nothing in the paper,” he whispered, leaning forward.

“Yes, they did, eventually," Sherlock replied, not bothering to keep his voive low, "and as I predicted they would have died within the next six hours.”

“But how did you get the information about the abduction, and how did you get the evidence, the linseed oil?” 

Sherlock looked at him, unsure whether to reply or not. “I’m a consulting detective” he finally answered, pride clearly audible in his voice. “The police consult me when they’re out of their depth, and as I said, that is nearly always.”

“But isn’t that illegal?” John asked bewildered.  
“Oh, yes it is!” Sherlock smirked. “Illegal and highly dangerous.” he added before he left with an even broader smirk, leaving behind a startled John Watson.


	5. Dancing In The Moonlight

_Peep peep_

John was lying on the sofa wearing pyjamas and watching telly. He ignored the phone buzzing on the windowsill.

_Peep peep_

It went again after a few seconds, and John got up, cursing the pain in his leg, and limped over to the windowsill. He had two texts from an unknown number.

_Come at once –SH_

_Laboratory – SH_

The initials made it clear who these texts were from.

_Peep peep_

_Bring your gun –SH_

John was suddenly achingly aware of his heart pounding in his chest. A well-known shiver went down his spine, one that he hadn’t felt for a long time, not since the last shooting in Afghanistan in the middle of the night. Something must have gone wrong. Sherlock had said what he did was dangerous. He needed help.

John grabbed his gun from the bedside drawer and sweared as his damn leg impeded him from moving quicker. He stepped out into the night and headed towards the school building. Panting, he reached the laboratory and found the door open. He walked into the room, gasping for air, only to find Sherlock in his apparently usual position, crouched over the microscope.

“Ah, Professor Watson. Glad you came.” Sherlock said, looking up and flashing John a dazzling smile.

“What’s wrong?” John asked firmly.

“Oh, nothing’s wrong, I’m afraid. Except, if you’d call the peculiar freckles those dead fingers are developing wrong, I wouldn’t object.”

John couldn’t believe his ears “Did I just run over here, with my gun, for no reason?” he asked, anger swelling in his stomach.

“Ah, so you own a gun, excellent!” Sherlock remarked enthusiastically and bent over the lens again.

“How-“, John began, taken aback. He’d realized that in the rush, he hadn’t even questioned how Sherlock had known about his gun and had even forgotten that possessing a gun was entirely illegal.

“So you also knew I had a gun, what betrayed me?” he sighed, surrendering.

“I didn’t know, it was rather a shot in the dark, but a good one. No need to worry," he added, “I won’t snitch on you”. He paused and scrambled through his belongings on the table. “You remember the fingers I had with me yesterday? They belonged to the victim of a murder I’ve been investigating for quite some time now. The police closed the case, they say it was suicide, but it was not. Anyway, I’ve been observing the process of the decomposition of these fingers to prove them wrong. I’m certain the murder weapon was a poisonous plant that has been entrusted in her care. She was a gardener. And you’re a doctor, so I thought you might see something I’ve missed so far.”

 _What the_ hell _are you doing,_ John thought as he examined the dead fingers. _There’s this mad man, student actually, whom you’ve just known for two days, who is pleased by the fact that you own a gun and solves crimes for fun, and you trust him. And help him. You’ve finally gone crazy, John Watson._

“How did you know my phone number” John asked absentmindedly. Those freckles really did look suspicious.

“Mh.” Sherlock pondered. “I might have had another look at your phone. Well not just at your phone this time, actually.”

John sighed and gave him a scorning look. He was answered by Sherlock trying to look embarrassed and apologetic, but ending up looking incredibly smug.

Both their heads snapped up at the clacking sound of heels coming from the corridor and getting closer. Sherlock’s eyes narrowed in thought. “Mrs. Anderson” he muttered as he hurriedly put his stuff into a bag and stored away the microscope with enviable speed.

John stood frozen to the spot, nervously scanning his mind for a way to get out of this situation without inevitably losing his job. The first thing that popped to his mind was to switch off the light.

“Turn the light back on” Sherlock hissed from the left corner where he stored the microscope. “If she’s seen it already, she’ll get suspicious. Second window from the right, there’s a fire escape ladder.”

John’s heart pounded in his ears loudly, but not quite loud enough to distract him of the frightening sound of the footsteps coming closer. He fidgeted with the old window frames and finally managed to climb out and clamber up the narrow steps. Panting, he halted when he reached a platform that lead around the corner of the building, where Anderson wouldn’t be able to see him. John huffed as Sherlock, who had evidently not noticed John had stopped, bumped into him from behind.

“She didn’t see us” Sherlock’s low voice rumbled next to John, he was slightly out of breath as well. They stood pressed against the wall, holding onto the railing, pressed together by the confined space. Slowly, a giggle emerged from John’s chest and Sherlock couldn’t restrain a chuckle himself. John could feel the heaving of Sherlock’s chest against him, and he felt the warmth Sherlock was radiating as a contrast to the autumn chill through the thin fabric of his pyjama trousers. Especially the latter set his brain cells on alarm and he was suddenly aware of all the ways his current position was absolutely inappropriate. He forced his giggle down and asked restrained “So, how do we get down?”

Sherlock tensed abruptly “Up.” he said shortly “There’s a ladder down on the other side of the building” They climbed on in silence, and when they reached the ground, Sherlock’s features were completely composed again.

“Goodnight, Professor Watson”, he said stiffly, and stalked away.

When John arrived at his door, his cane was leaning against it. He would never find out how it had gotten there.

But he eventually found out that it would take him a long time to get the picture of Sherlock, standing on top of the roof in the moonlight, out of his head.


	6. Well I Run To The Rock - Please Hide Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got two new chapters for you, my lovelies!  
> For those of you who don't know the ACD canon: chapter 6 is based on "The Advendures Of Charles Augustus Milverton". It's one of the most johnlocky ACD stories, I really recommend you read it :)  
> Chapter 7 is rather short, but it's Sherlock's POV for the first time, and it's one of my favorites.  
> Enjoy!

The next week passed so slowly, John began to wonder if earth had finally forgotten to turn. He kept checking his watch every few minutes but the watch hands seemed to be stuck in place. Sure, he still liked teaching, but he had already fallen into a routine and the job clearly lacked excitement. During classes, he wished for work to be over. But when he finally was at home, he couldn’t think of anything to do, so he usually switched on the TV and watched crap telly until he would fall asleep. He sometimes thought about going for walks on the seaside, but October was coming and the bitterly cold wind made him stay inside.

John hadn’t forgotten about the day he had climbed the school building with Sherlock. He had especially not forgotten that he had actually climbed the school building, without his cane, and walked back home, not even noticing his cane was missing. He hadn’t told his therapist about it yet - no, he wouldn’t acknowledge defeat so quickly, not after months of prostesting against the diagnosis of a psychosomatic pain. Nevertheless, it kept him thinking.

Sherlock, on the other hand, didn’t seem to care too much about that incident. He still did his work during John’s classes without attracting attention, so there was no reason for confrontation.

*******************

_Peep peep_

_Teachers’ room. Now. Get dressed and bring gun. SH_

John didn’t think twice this time. He got up from where he had loitered in front of the TV, and within the next 5 minutes he found himself stepping out into the night again, this time not disgruntled about the cold air, but elated by excitement.

As he reached the teachers’ room he found Sherlock sprawled on the couch, shrouded by a long, black coat. He was tapping away on his phone. Without looking up Sherlock started: “Have you ever heard of Charles Milverton?”

“No”, John replied, glad that Sherlock didn’t seem to find it odd in the least that John had actually followed his unusual invitation.

“Milverton is the Napoleon of blackmail. He’s a shark. Flat face. Dead eyes. I’ve dealt with murderers, psychopaths, and serial killers, but none of them can turn my stomach like Charles Augustus Milverton. I’m not exaggerating when I say that he knows the critical pressure point on every person of note or influence in the whole of the Western World and probably beyond. He’s currently putting pressure on a lady called Elizabeth Smallwood. He is in possession of some compromising photos she sent to her former lover. Would these pictures be leaked, her wedding with the Prince of Sweden would inevitably be cancelled, and that is not in her interest, and therefore not in mine, as she's my client. I found out where Milverton keeps them. We’re going to fetch them tonight,” Sherlock declared.

“Steal them” John corrected.

Sherlock made a snorting noise.

“And what makes you so certain I’ll come with you?” John asked.

Sherlock’s gaze fell on John’s cane and stopped there. “No idea” he concluded, got up and brushed past John into the corridor with a dramatic swirl of his coat.

John huffed, hunched his shoulders, and followed Sherlock.

*****************

Soon they reached the parking place. “Is this your car?” John asked as they approached an old Jeep.

"No, this is mine” Sherlock replied shortly, pointing to the left. “But a Jeep’s less suspicious. We’re borrowing it.” His voice made it obvious that ‘borrowing’ was no the appropriate term for what they were actually doing.

Even in the dark John could make out the silhouette of a space gray Jaguar. _Holy fuck_. Sherlock’s family really must be rich. Sherlock got into the Jeep in one swift motion and started the motor. John felt very much aware of his height as he scrambled into the passenger’s seat in an awfully disgraceful manner that he hoped Sherlock hadn’t seen.

They drove in silence. Sherlock seemed deep in thought and John forced himself to not think at all. After about half an hour Sherlock announced that he would turn off from the road soon.

“Turn off from the road?” John protested “There’s wood on both sides of it, where the hell do you want to turn?”

“That’s the point of it.” Sherlock said, rolling his eyes. “You shouldn’t park your car in plain sight if you plan a burglary, remember that.”. After a moment he added “Professor Watson” and John could hear the smirk in his voice. Git. He himself had a hard time trying to fight back a giggle, too.

Sherlock slowed down and steered the car into the wood as soon as he found an opening broad enough. Leaving on the parking light, he led the way into the pitch black wood. John couldn’t see a thing but Sherlock’s face, dimly lit by the screen of his mobile. His already clear-cut features were even more prominent and his eyes seem colourless. Had John not known him, he’d been a little bit scared by Sherlock’s appearance. Just as John wanted to ask if Sherlock was even looking where they were going, they reached a clearing.

“Christ” John muttered impressed, as he was presented with the sight of a lordly mansion.

“Blackmailing is a rather profitable business” Sherlock snorted dismissively. “However, here’s our plan. It’s nearly 10 o’clock; Milverton goes to bed at 10:30, so he’ll be in the bathroom right now, and his staff will be in the kitchen, clearing the dinner table. We can use the back entrance without being seen. This…” he said, pointing at the nearest window on the ground floor “...is his working room and presumably where he hides the photos.”

“Presumably?” John interrupted.

“Certainly.” Sherlock retorted, annoyed. “We have to be quick. We’ll use the back entrance again to get out. Then we run," he said and strode towards the building.

“What if we get caught?” John hissed as he hurried after Sherlock’s dark coat.

“We won’t," Sherlock replied, not even bothering to slow down his quick pace. When they reached the back door, Sherlock got out a small leather bag containing lock picking-devices and started fumbling with the lock.

“That’s how you get into the school building,” John sighed scoldingly.

Sherlock just smiled and opened the door for John. The house was just as spectacular from the inside as it was from the outside. This, in fact, worked in their favour, as the soft red carpet muffled their steps. As Sherlock had predicted, there were clattering sounds that obviously came from a kitchen.

The working room in contrast, was not as pompous as the rest of the house. The furnishing was modest but practical. The large windows they had seen from the outside were covered by thick curtains.

“That’s it.” Sherlock muttered, crossing the room, heading for a plain cupboard. When John shot him a questioning look Sherlock explained in a whisper: “Unobtrusive, but the most solid piece of furniture in this room. And,” he added “meticulously locked.”

Sherlock reached out for the cupboard, but tensed suddenly. “Someone’s coming” he whispered, grabbed John firmly by his arm and pulled him behind the opaque curtains. Sherlock had promised they wouldn’t get caught, but his nervously darting eyes didn’t reassure John of the quality of this promise. The door opened with a creak and someone stepped into the room. They pressed their bodies against the window, so their contours would be invisible.

“Milverton” Sherlock whispered, barely audible, directly into John’s ear. There was the rustle of a coat hung onto a clothes-stand, followed by the squeaking of leather as Milverton apparently sat down.

A few minutes passed while John as well as Sherlock stood as still as possible behind the window curtains, trying to breathe as noiselessly as they could. From time to time John felt a tiny movement from Sherlock, but didn’t dare to turn his head to see what he was doing.

Suddenly there was the sound of another pair of, softer, footsteps, approaching. The door opened and a second figure stepped into the room.

“You’re late,” Milverton announced courtly. _So Milverton has an appointment today. Sherlock clearly hasn’t expected that._

The figure they could make out by its shadow remained silent, so Milverton continued “Well, you say you have five documents that compromise the premier minister. Name the price?”

“My apologies, you're mistaken,” a women’s voice sounded through the room, followed by a sharp intake of breath from Milverton.

John couldn’t resist his curiosity any longer and gently parted the division of the curtains to peep through. A woman, dressed in black, stood in front of Milverton, a gun in her outstretched hand, pointing directly at Milverton’s head. John gaped in shock. He felt Sherlock’s hand gliding into his, giving him a reassuring squeeze. He couldn’t help but to cling to Sherlock’s hand, the memories of the war, of guns and blood still too fresh in his memory.

“You ruined my family,” the woman continued calmly “All my loved ones are dead. You made sure you didn’t get your hands dirty, as always, but you made a mistake this time. And you know it, because if not, you would’ve already called you servants. But you fear being caught this time, don’t you?”

“Miss Morstan” Milverton began “As well as I am aware of your family’s tragic fate I am also aware of your financial situation and I can very well help you out of a lot of trouble....”

Milverton never finished his sentence, the air was broken by two shots and John’s mind went blank as he felt himself being pushed through the already open window and fell onto the grass, rolling away to make space for Sherlock, who followed immediately after. They got up and sped into the wood, dashing trough the branches. John never looked back but kept his gaze locked on Sherlock’s swirling coat to keep track.

John only dared to relax when they were safe in the Jeep and driving towards Brighton. “They won’t suspect us, will they?” John asked wearily when he finally was able to catch his breath again.

“No” Sherlock answered, looking grim “They’ll catch Miss Morstan and won’t look for signs of other intruders. I couldn’t help her; I had to get us out of there.”

“You opened the window while they were talking.” John said, making sense of Sherlocks earlier movements, and Sherlock just gave a court nod.

“I’m sorry” Sherlock said after a while. He sounded quiet, almost soft, compared to the way he usually talked.

“It’s alright Sherlock, don’t worry.” John didn’t bother calling him by his last name anymore. “I’ve seen a lot of people die, friends even, good friends, this was just a stranger. A rather bad person, even.”

Sherlock didn’t relax; he even tensed up a little bit more and stared at the street ahead of the steering wheel. “I’m sorry I put you in danger. This wasn’t supposed to be like that.”

John turned to look at him properly. Sherlock’s eyes were narrowed, he looked exhausted and troubled. They reached the parking place in what seemed no time. Sherlock remained seated, but didn’t look at John. “Listen, Sherlock. Don’t worry, I’m fine. I don’t blame you. Thank you for taking me with you, even though I didn’t prove to be very useful after all.”

Sherlock cast him a tiny glance, and it seemed almost pleading.

“Goodnight, Sherlock” John said with a reassuring smile, and got out of the car.


	7. I've Got My Head Right In My Hands

_This is not right. Absolutely intolerable.  
_ As soon as John was out of earshot Sherlock got out of the Jeep and slammed the door shut. No way could he go home now. Not with his mind’s wheels turning like crazy.

 _How could this happen? Feelings. Sentiment!_ He cared. Caring is not an advantage, he had learned that at a very young age and lived by this rule since then. Sure, there were some people he cared about. His parents, for example. And however unwilling he was to admit it, there was his brother Mycroft. He was insufferable, but Sherlock cared about him. At least he didn’t want him dead. These exceptions Sherlock explained to himself as mere biological phenomena. Making sure your family survives, preserving the blood line. That seemed to be the ultimate goal of all life in existence.

Sherlock also knew physical attraction. He had been physically attracted a few times, although he had never let himself give in to such base motives. All creatures feel the urge to mate. It’s not just about preserving the blood line, but also continuing it. So he couldn’t be an exception.

But this felt different. It was not that John wasn’t outwardly attractive; he definitely was one of the lucky ones in the gene pool. No, Sherlock had cared, actually, honestly, genuinely cared about what John felt. That John might have suffered from having seen someone being shot again, unable to help. That John might not want to spend time with him him anymore.

What did it matter what John thought about him? Sherlock usually didn’t give a damn about other people’s opinions of him. And other people’s opinions in general. But he cared about what John thought about him. And therefore he was scared.

Sherlock had now reached the opposite side of the school building. He paused in his step. Every breath he let out caused a thick cloud of condensation to blur his vision. But the blurred vision didn’t in the least match the disarray in his mind.

He had to focus. Finding out where this feeling had come from might help finding out how to get rid of it.

_John Watson. New chemistry teacher. Physically inconspicuous, short, but muscled. Strong. Military background. He had been nervous in the beginning, but it wasn’t like with the other new teachers, who usually lost control over the class within the first 30 minutes and didn’t regain it until they retired. He was naturally authoritative. His posture, his voice, his facial expression, his whole body spoke command. He didn’t do it consciously. It just happened to him. Again military background._

Sherlock had liked this. John had calmed the class. He had also calmed Sherlock’s mind. His thoughts had almost been in order for a few moments.

 _Well. Consequence: he wanted John around more often._ That explained why he feared losing him. Dull. He had never needed anyone, and he would be just as well off without John.

_Easy solution: no more meeting John._

But this didn’t explain why Sherlock cared about how John felt. If John would have nightmares again. _(Obvious. Recently returned from war. Frequently showing dark rings under the eyes in the morning. Psychosomatic limp.)_ If the pain in his leg would get worse. If John was alone now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's title is part of the lyrics of one of my favorite songs, that always remind me of Sherlock and John: Town Full Of Dogs - by Naked Lunch. Drugs, Love, Hurt, Pirates and Hounds, it's all in there ;-)


	8. And I Wonder If I Ever Cross Your Mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just noticed it's been three days since my last update! So here are two new chapters, I hope the can make up for the delay. Thank you so much for everyone who read and/or subscribed and/or left kudos, it means a lot to me! :-)

The next morning, John read about Milverton in the morning newspaper.

**Murdered by Mary Morstan, a recently orphaned woman from Liverpool, for reasons yet unknown. The police was informed by the victim’s staff, Mary Morstan was arrested and will be brought to trial next week.**

There was no mention of two men standing behind the window curtain while all this happened and fleeing into the wood like madmen afterwards. Sherlock had been right. The police had the murderer, so they didn’t investigate further.

John chuckled. This report put him in an utterly cheerful mood, which made the day go by far more quickly than usual, and even the bright weather seemed to have caught up with John’s mood. His mood only faltered a little when he was informed in the last lesson that Sherlock had called in ill and wouldn’t attend class that day. As soon as he found time John sent a message:

_Caught a cold yesterday? : ) JW_

He frequently checked his phone for an answer, but when night settled in, he gave up hope.

**************************

Over the next weeks, days were getting shorter and colder; the students had loads of work to do and were generally lacking in concentration during the lessons. John did his best to prepare them for the exams that would be taking place before the Christmas holidays and started to realize that he was even more nervous for the exams than his pupils were. His leg was hurting like hell and the nightmares were more frequent again. All in all, it was a stressful time, made worse because of the fact that Sherlock Holmes seemed to have totally forgotten about John. He attended classes, did his work even quicker than before and always left class early. Somehow John never found a possibility to get in any kind of contact with him.

_He's a genius John told himself. He's young, full of energy, and terribly good looking, with a bright future ahead of him. Sherlock is special. He can have whatever he wants. Why should he be bothered by an injured war veteran, who's day consists of work, telly and his therapist. You have no future, John, there's nothing about you that could draw Sherlock's interest. You really shouldn't be surprised._

*************************

 

 

It was a lazy afternoon in early December. John sat in his recliner and watched TV. Again. The rain dribbled against the windows. He tried to relax and get his mind off his worries. Granted, that didn’t work so well. His thoughts wandered to his sister, to exams, to overdue catching-up with old friends, and back to his sister. Sherlock had been right. She had broken up with Clara and was drinking again. He had visited her once after his return. He hated how different she was when she was drunk.

Sherlock. John was already used to the tall, pale, black haired man turning up in his thoughts. But he was good at distracting himself. At least he thought so. This time the image of these piercing eyes didn’t go away. _“I’m sorry”_. Those had been the last words Sherlock had directed at him.

 _“The police consult me when they’re out of their depths, and as I said, that is nearly always.”_ The words echoed through John’s brain. And he wondered. What was Sherlock doing now? Was he on some terrifying case and didn’t take John with him? Left him to decay slowly, watching crap telly? John’s fingers set to work without him thinking:

_Any interesting cases on? JW_

The answer came immediately:

_No. SH_

John thought for a while.

_I’ve read about a burglary of the Royal Pavilion. JW_

_Told you. Nothing interesting. SH_

John chuckled. He hated to admit how relieved he was that Sherlock had actually replied.

_If anything worthwhile comes up, do tell me. JW_

_I will. SH_

 

 

_John needs me. He is bored out of his mind. The world is dull. John’s life is dull. He needs me. He needs distraction. I know how he feels. I feel the same. How could I possibly reject him._


	9. You Are Never Gonna Burn My Heart Out

A few days later John’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He was on his way back to the classroom after lunch. He pulled out his phone not daring to hope it was...

_My car, 5 minutes. SH_

_Gun. SH_

John didn’t think twice. His body refused to take another step towards the classroom, but began to move in the direction of his flat. As soon as he was out of eyesight of his colleagues he started to run, not realising he had dropped his cane.

When he reached the parking space, Sherlock already had the motor on. John hopped into the Jaguar and they sped off.

Not caring for a greeting Sherlock began explaining rapidly: “Woman poisoned, suspected suicide, except that it was not. She was murdered, just like the four other victims that died in the same way in the last few days. Lestrade called me in to investigate; they left the woman’s body in place for me. Oh I feel like Christmas.”

John had listened intently. “Where are we going?”

“141 Holland Road”

They turned into a deserted road. Terraced houses stood calmly row in row, looking utterly innocent. However, further ahead John could make out the flickering of emergency lights. Sherlock parked the car just next to the crime scene tape and walked towards the inspectors. When John approached, Sherlock had already entered the building, his black coat trailing behind him.

“Hey, watcha doing here?” A female officer called out to John.

“I’m a friend of Mister Holmes.” John explained “I’m with him.”

“A friend of Mister Holmes” The woman repeated incredulously, and eyed John “He doesn’t have friends. Whoever you are, stay away from that guy. He’s a psychopath. He gets off on crime scenes. The weirder the crime, the more he gets off. And you know what? One day just showing up won’t be enough. One day we’ll be standing ‘round a body and Sherlock Holmes’ll be the one that put it there.”

John just nodded at her “Thanks a lot for the advice,” he said pointedly and followed Sherlock into the building.

Sherlock was crouching next to the corpse of a dead woman, for once seeming unobstusive in his black clothes, because the woman beside him was completely dressed in blazing lavender. Everything about her was lavender. Her skirt, her shoes, her blouse, even the bag Sherlock was currently rummaging about in.

“I was right!” Sherlock exclaimed as John entered the room. “It was murder! And...” he leaned towards John and whispered “the murderer made a mistake this time. We can’t discuss this in here, let’s go!”

They exited the building, leaving behind a bunch of surprised looking police officers. As soon as they were in the car Sherlock began to talk. “He made a mistake, John! There was no mobile in the lady’s bag. I don’t know how or why, but the only possible explanation is that her phone is still in the possession of the murderer. I checked out her number. We can call him!” Sherlock grinned at John, eyes beaming.

“Wait,” John interjected “Why didn’t you tell the police? I’m sure there are ways to locate mobiles?”

Sherlock gave John a look, as if he had just said the sun orbited the earth. Swiftly, he dialled a number and they waited.

“Mr. Holmes” a voice sneered through the loudspeaker “I’ve been waiting for you. Do you already know who I am?”

“No.” Sherlock replied, annoyed with himself.

“How very disappointing. I’ll just have to tell you, then. I’m invisible. I move without anyone noticing me. I’m the one everybody trusts no matter what time of the day. No matter where. I offer security, but then they die. Why is that, Mr. Holmes?”

Sherlock’s eyes were wide in surprise and locked on the rear-view mirror. He hung up and without looking at John he said “Gotta go. I’ll take a cab. Don’t wait for me.” With these words he was out of the car and John could see him driving off with the next cab.

 _What the hell?_ So the murderer had purposely been waiting for Sherlock? And Sherlock just decided to go off on his own? _There’s something wrong there_ , John concluded, and as quickly as he could he got into the driver’s seat and turned the key.

Following a cab didn’t prove as easy as it looked in films. He was frequently impeded by traffic lights and crosswalks and lost sight of the cab several times. It was sheer luck that he finally found it, parked in front of an unoccupied house.

John parked the jaguar a bit offside, just as Sherlock had taught him. _If you want to break into a building, don’t park the car right in front of it_. He jogged along the street and cautiously opened the front door. He could hear voices coming from a room upstairs. He followed the voices and leaned against the door, listening.

“It’s just two pills, Mr. Holmes. You take the good pill, you live; take the bad pill, you die. Do you know which is which?” John recognised the voice as the one he had heard on the phone.

“This is a fifty-fifty chance, Moriarty.” Sherlock’s muffled voice sounded through the door.

“No, it’s not. I’ve done this 4 times, 4 people have died, and I’m still alive. This is a game of chess and I always win. Which one do you choose?”

 _Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck_! What was Sherlock doing? Why did he even come here in the first place? John decided against just storming in and getting Sherlock out of there. What if there was more than one murderer? What if they had guns? They were murderers after all. John needed a look inside. Quickly.

 _This room must have a window - visible from the garden._ First floor, so John couldn’t see a thing from where he stood. Tree! There was a tree, and John had always been good at climbing trees as a child. This way he had a perfect look on the scenery in front of him and was well hidden by the branches.

John could only see two people. There was Sherlock, on the right, and a white-haired, thin man on the left, swinging his head from side to side like a snake about to strike. He squeezed his eyes to see what they were doing. What he saw sent a jolt of shock through his body. Sherlock was slowly lifting his hand to his mouth, unmistakably holding a tiny pill. _You take the good pill, you live; take the bad pill, you die. This is a fifty-fifty chance._ The words echoed through John’s brain.

Sherlock didn’t look confident at all. His hand had to move only a few more inches and then he would swallow the pill. _This could be the end of Sherlock Holmes_. Closing his eyes for a brief second John took in a deep breath and reached for his gun. _This man won’t kill Sherlock Holmes_.


	10. I Ran Away With My Imagination

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the long wait, uni is giving me hell. But here's the second last update! :) As always, thank you so much for sticking with me!

Sherlock was pacing in front of the house, gesticulating wildly to Lestrade.

“I told you, I came here alone with Moriarty. And no, I couldn’t see anything out of the window, the light was on inside for god’s sake. It’s fundamental physics that....”

“Alright, yes, I get it, you don’t know who shot Moriarty, calm down Sherlock!” Lestrade tried to appease.

Both of them hadn’t realised that John had approached. “I’ve heard what has happened, officer. I’m Doctor Watson, Sherlock’s teacher and I’m here to take him back to his apartment. I’m sure he’s in shock and not ready for giving a statement yet.”

“I’m not...” Sherlock turned towards John furiously, but as he sat eyes on him something slowly seemed to dawn on him “not,” he stammered, “Yes, Lestrade, Professor Watson’s right, I am not in any state to testify and would very much prefer to go home now.”

“Well, alright, I’ll approach you in the next days then, I guess?” Lestrade looked surprised.

“Very well.” John bid goodbye with a nod and lead Sherlock towards the Jaguar.

“You” Sherlock hissed under his breath, staring at John. “It was you. Where did you put the gun?”

“Could you please behave a little bit less suspicious? And the gun is safe; I threw it into the sea from the pier. Come on now.” Sherlock stirred towards the driver’s seat but John pushed him away. “If you’re not in a state to testify, than you’re also not in a state to drive.” he explained.

Sherlock tried to protest but was so flabbergasted by the recent turn of events he just let John push him into the passenger seat. John had _shot Moriarty_ for him. John had obviously climbed that tree, seen Sherlock about to take a pill, unsure whether it was the right one or not, and had shot. It took Sherlock a while to process that. Why would he do that? Why would he make himself liable to prosecution to protect Sherlock if it wasn’t for... sentiment? If it wasn’t for caring? John cared. Finding this out was even more of a shock to Sherlock than finding out that he himself cared about John.

“You don’t have a gun anymore.” Sherlock stated after a while.

“No, but it was illegal anyway, so killing someone made me more legal as a consequence, the judge might consider this as an extenuating cause“, John tried to joke.

“You liked having a gun. Good shot, for that matter.”

“Thanks.” Silence settled again as they approached the college. John parked the car and turned off the motor. “You were about to take the pill. You would have taken it,” he said.

Sherlock’s gaze flickered. “I knew which pill was the right one”, he retorted.

“No, you didn’t,” John interjected “but you would have taken it anyway.”

“Why would I do that?” Sherlock asked defiantly. “’Cause you’re an idiot,” John replied with a smile that was promptly mirrored by Sherlock.

That was when time became a blur. When suddenly all that mattered were those shining cyan eyes locked with John’s ocean blue ones. When John as well as Sherlock were utterly aware of their bodies, but unable to control them consciously. When miraculously space between them seemed to shrink until they could feel the warmth of each other’s breath.

That was when John shortly diverted his gaze down to Sherlock’s slightly parted lips and Sherlock suddenly jumped, putting as much space between them as possible in a car and looked at John in terror.

Without another word he fled out of the car and ran away.


	11. And We Have Just One World (But We Live In Different Ones)

_Breathe. Breathe. Control, Sherlock. You always have control. Breathe. What has just happened? Someone has tried to kiss you. Has he? Perhaps he hasn’t and this whole reaction is absolutely exaggerated and John is laughing about you right now. Embarrassing. Embarrassing! Sherlock!_ He slapped himself. _Being embarrassed means caring about what other people think. You don’t care about that!_

_But what if he has? If John really has wanted to kiss you. Did you want it, too?_

********************

 _Oh Jesus Christ, John. What did you think? WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU THINK? Kissing a student? Kissing Sherlock?_ John slammed his hand on the wheel. _There’s no excuse for that. How could you even begin to believe that Sherlock might want that? You cornered him, John. He had made it fairly clear that he didn’t want contact. He took you with him today because you asked him for it and, fuck, students don’t reject their professors if they want to pass the semester. That’s it, John. No way can you come back here after Christmas holidays. The first thing you really enjoyed since you returned and you destroyed it. I hate you, John._

********************

Sherlock was lying face down in his bed. If nearly dying hadn’t shaken him, this incident clearly had. _Did you want it?_ It was a rare occurrence that his mind could focus on one single question, but this definitely was one. Then again, John Watson had the tendency to cause this. And slowly, very slowly Sherlock found the answer. Yes. He’d wanted it. He’d panicked; he hadn’t had time to think it through. But he had wanted to kiss John Watson.

****************

John was lying in his bed, staring at the ceiling. He couldn’t imagine that this stinging ache in his chest, bitter regret, could ever leave him again. He lay like that for a long time, hating himself. Knowing he could never turn that right again. When sleep finally overwhelmed him, he had one last thought before he drifted off: Sherlock had nearly killed himself today. Perhaps it had just not been the right situation. Perhaps there was hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo in the next few days I'm going to post the last chapter! I would be lying if I told you I wasn't nervous, after all, I rated this fic mature, so I guess you know what's coming ;-)  
> I wish all of my dear readers a splendid week! You're great!


	12. Home Is Wherever I'm With You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS IT, GUYS! The 12th, and last chapter :-)

John was thankful he didn’t meet Sherlock during the days following the fatal incident in Sherlock’s car. The headmaster easily believed his made-up story about feeling sick as an excuse for why he hadn’t returned after lunch break that day. Everything seemed back to normal. Expect that whatever John did, he felt as if his thorax was being compressed, his heart an lungs smahed.

**************************

Four days later, there was a knock on his door. This was a highly unusual thing to happen. John almost never had visitors. Perhaps it was one of the neighbours? Granted, he didn’t even know what they looked like, so he wouldn’t be able to tell. Standing on his toes, John looked through the spyhole. It was definitely not one of the neighbours. It was Sherlock. _Shit_.

Perhaps he should open the door and apologize, promise to never do anything like that again, plead him not to tell the headmaster, but John couldn’t push himself to open the door and confront Sherlock. Sherlock must know he was here, he always knew such things. John sat down, leaned against the wall facing the door and waited until he heard footsteps leading away.

Cautious not to make a sound he eventually got up and peeped thorough the spyhole again. There was no more of Sherlock to be seen. But something else caught John’s attention. Through the distorted vision he could make out a dark spot on the hallway floor. A box.

Curiosity made him open the door and walk out to retrieve the box Sherlock must have deliberately put in the middle of the hallway, perfectly visible through the spyhole. He opened the lid, but closed it immediately after he had seen what was in there. John hastily looked around to make sure no one had seen him and stepped back into his flat. Inside, he dared to open the lid again. The box contained a gun. It fit perfectly in John’s hand. It wasn’t new, John could see unmistakable signs of usage, but that didn’t bother him in the least. It gave the gun personality. Character. It was perfect.

John had not known what he had expected Sherlock to do, but this surely wasn’t it.

**************************

When John arrived at his flat after work the next day he felt utterly wrecked. It had without doubt been the most stressful day since he’d started this job. Exams had started, and like that would be not enough trouble; there had also been an unannounced school-inspection that had driven the headmaster and the rest of the staff crazy. John had not even had one minute to think to himself the whole day and craved the comfort of his cushy armchair.

Yet, as soon as he sat down, the doorbell rang. Cursing his leg and his general misfortune, John got up and limped to the door. Thankfully it was just one of the first-year students.

“Professor Watson, I’m sorry to disturb you. I was asked to bring you this folder, you forgot it after the end of the class” he said shyly, holding out John’s attendance register.

“Thank you very much, Henry.” John forced a tired smile and waved him goodbye. As soon as the boy had fulfilled his task he ran off with a big grin on his face.

Sighing, John turned back and walked into his sitting room. It took him a moment to realise something was different. Something was VERY much different.

Sherlock was sitting on his sofa, casually flicking through John’s notes.

“How did you...” John began but broke off as Sherlock moved his head courtly in the direction of the window without looking up. Oh, of course. “The window it was then. And I guess it was also you who stole my folder and asked Henry to bring it?” A small movement of Sherlock’s lips that very much resembled a smirk answered John’s question. John took a deep breath.

There were so many ways he could fuck this up and he really wanted to get it right. “Listen, Mister Holmes, I am terribly, terribly sorry for what has happened the last time we met, I am absolutely aware how inappropriate my behaviour was and I am deeply ashamed. I know that there are no excuses for what I’ve done. All I can say is that I promise...” John was interrupted by Sherlock, who finally looked up and seemed a bit annoyed.

“I thought we had already agreed that you call me 'Sherlock'?” He asked.

“What?”

“You used to call me Sherlock and I would prefer it if you kept it that way. Anyway, please stop trying to apologize, you’re dreadful at it. My reaction last time might have misled you into making wrong assumptions about me, so I came here to explain. I admit that I have never received a comparable offer and have no empirical experience how to handle a situation like this. Moreover, I did not expect the cognitive reaction I have shown. However, I find that I would like to know more about it now that I’m prepared and therefore I ask you to kiss me.”

John had listened to Sherlock’s speech and was absolutely bewildered. Whatever it was that he thought he had just heard it couldn’t be true. His mind must be playing tricks on him. He managed to pull himself together and said “I think I might have misheard you, could you please...”

“Kiss me.”

“What?” John exclaimed.

“That’s what I’d said. Kiss me.”

“Sherlock, I don’t think you understand. I am your teacher, this is highly inappropriate, and please don’t think that you have to do that in order to...”

“I don’t do things because I _have_ to” Sherlock hissed as he approached John. He stopped just a few inches away from the smaller man and quietly repeated “Kiss me”. And however composed and unreadable Sherlock’s features were, John heard his voice and saw his eyes and knew there was more to it than just scientific curiosity. His voice was rough and unmistakably pleading. And his eyes betrayed that he was in equal parts timid and frightened John might reject him. Sherlock wanted this. There was no way John could resist when Sherlock’s body was so close, the air between them almost electric, and Sherlock pleading him. Slowly John closed his eyes and leaned forward. Sherlock forced his eyes to stay open but as soon as John’s lips brushed against his, they fluttered shut. John felt Sherlock’s sharp intake of breath at the touch and cupped his face with one hand to soothe him. Slowly he continued to stroke Sherlock’s lips with his. John himself was overwhelmed by the sparks of electricity the faint touch sent through his body and could only imagine how Sherlock must feel if this really was his first kiss.

After a while, Sherlock relaxed a bit into John’s embrace and responded to the kiss. His first movements where so tentative and shy, there was no trace left of the confident manner he had displayed just a few seconds ago, and John had to suppress the urge to just pull Sherlock into his arms and cuddle him.

John put his other hand on Sherlock’s hip and cautiously, Sherlock mirrored his movement on the other side, never breaking the kiss. After that John dared to deepen the kiss and was rewarded by Sherlock responding immediately, opening his mouth and letting John in. Sherlock tensed again as the tips of their tongues touched, startled by the sudden explosion of sensation, and John pulled Sherlock’s body closer to make him feel safe.

They did not let go of each other for a long time, only just breaking the contact if it was absolutely necessary to get some air in their lungs. The kiss deepened, lips nipping and tongues stroking and exploring each other. Admittedly, it was a bit clumsy, but that made it even more honest and sweet and John was getting more and more dizzy. He decided it was time to stop when he felt himself getting hard, and tried to pull back. Inadvertently, he pressed his crotch into Sherlock’s in the process which caused them both to moan into each other’s mouths. John was definitely not alone with being aroused if the bulge in Sherlock’s jeans was anything to go by.

They broke the kiss abruptly; both startled by the unexpected reaction and looked at each other. Both men smiled shyly. After a moment, Sherlock rolled his hips against John’s once again causing John to gasp. “Sherlock, this is your first time, please don’t feel like you have to....”

“Please” Sherlock whispered into John’s mouth. John gave Sherlock a long look, drowning in the desire those radiant blue eyes displayed, his ears ringing with the need in Sherlock’s voice. He usually was conscious about their height difference, but in this moment it didn’t matter at all, because he literally felt completely on his knees anyway, laying at Sherlock’s feet in devotion.

“Bedroom” John whispered in agreement, stealing kisses as they stumbled towards the comfort of the bed. Gently, John tucked Sherlock out of his black coat, and laid it on a nearby chair. Sherlock, in return, disrobed John of his jumper, which left him in his shirt, and suddenly his hands were all over John, roaming his chest and his back, glad to be finally able to feel his body through the thin fabric. Kisses were heated and urgent and the air was filled by the sound of the rustling of their clothes and their desperate breaths, only interrupted by occasional whimpers.

In a rush they fully undressed, ultimately able to take in each other’s naked bodies. Sherlock’s eyes, darkened by heavily dilated pupils, frantically roamed John’s body, hungrily taking in every inch of him. His still slightly tanned body, the outlines of strong muscles on his chest and arms, the trail of hair that started below his navel and lead to a magnificent erection. And there was, of course, the scar tissue on his shoulder that caught Sherlock’s attention. John immediately flinched in embarrassment as he felt Sherlock’s gaze lingering on it. But John was too distracted to comment on it, drawn in by Sherlock’s perfectly smooth, silkily pale skin. He was lean, but John knew he was strong, and his prominent member was already throbbing.

John gently laid Sherlock down on the bed, bending over him and covering his mouth, face, and neck with soft kisses. When he felt Sherlock relax under him, he slowly began to rub their crotches together. Precum had made both men slick and John moaned into Sherlock’s open mouth, while increasing the friction along the lengths of their erections. Sherlock’s eyes were closed, his breaths shallow, and he responded beautifully to the rhythm John set.

After a while, John began trailing kisses down Sherlock’s neck to his chest, staying to indulge in his hardened nipples for some time, which drew several sobs from Sherlock, and continued downwards. When John had almost reached his goal, Sherlock’s eyes opened. “Alright?” John whispered into Sherlock’s thighs, looking up at him. Overwhelmed by the sight of John down there, where he had never let anyone before, Sherlock just nodded and in the next moment he was arching into John’s mouth, so hot and skilfully teasing around him. His tongue played with Sherlock’s glans while he kept up the rhythm with his hand on Sherlock’s shaft.

Sherlock responded more frantically, and he bit his own arm to suppress the groans.

Suddenly, he withdrew from John completely. Perplexed, John sat up and his mind whirled considering all the things that he might have done wrong to cause Sherlock to curl up and look so shattered.

“Control.” Sherlock suddenly said timidly. “I always have control John. I don’t want to lose it.”

“You felt like you were losing control, and it scared you?” John asked softly, trying to make sense of Sherlock’s behaviour, his brain hazy from arousal. Sherlock nodded and looked at John shyly. _This is Sherlock,_ John thought, _one of the most self confident men I’ve ever met, who had seemed so much older than his colleagues, who looked now so broken and embarassed and angry with himself._

John crawled over to him and stroked the man’s sweaty hair as Sherlock buried his face in Johns shoulder. It was his scarred shoulder, John realised, and scolded himself internally for choosing this side.

Sherlock calmed down, curled up against John, and after a while John felt tiny movements of Sherlock’s head. He was kissing him. Kissing his scar, the one thing that John thought the most disgusting part of him, that he hated and felt embarrassed about every time he saw its reflection in the mirror. Sherlock hummed into John’s ear as he pressed soft kisses onto John’s scar tissue. John could swear his chest burst with affection in this moment. He turned his head to bury his nose in Sherlock’s unruly curls, breathing in his scent, so uniquely Sherlock’s.

John felt the Sherlock’s hand gripping his shaft and starting to stroke him. Sherlock must have registered every tiny one of John’s reactions and put his knowledge to use now. John found himself riding a wave of arousal. While working on John’s erect member, Sherlock kept kissing whatever part of John he could reach, his scar, his nipples, his neck and the soft spot right behind his earlobe. Oh, and John liked it when he heard Sherlock’s ragged breath in his ear. When the shorter man was close to orgasm, Sherlock leaned towards him and whispered “Look at me, John”. John could now see that Sherlock was touching himself, too and while his eyes were locked with Sherlock’s, John felt an orgasmic wave washing over him, his mind going blank while he found himself completely at Sherlock’s mercy. Faintly, he could hear a muffled scream and felt a body rutting against him and when John could see clearly again, he saw that Sherlock had come too, almost in time with him and was now lying spent on the mattress beside him lazily stroking both of them.

Sherlock looked back up, being his old self again, confident and slightly snappish, and John loved it. He knew he couldn’t tell Sherlock just now how terribly much he had loved it, but was happy to just curl up with Sherlock and share their heat, their breaths and their heartbeats, until they fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to say a huuuuge thank you to everybody who read this story! Y'all have a special place in my heart. 
> 
> The biggest of thank-yous goes to Simone, for being an excellent proofreader and vocabulary enhancer, and generally for being brilliant :-)


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